


Sensational

by castiowl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, dean is so so stupid and i love him, pie and coffee, the human experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: “When I first came to earth, it was advised that we temper the senses bound to our vessels. They were a distraction, we were told. An antiquated form of experiencing existence that would hinder our ability to complete our missions, whatever that may be. My true form can better facilitate these experiences. What you would recognize as heightened senses of sight and sound, among other things.”Or, how Dean helps Cas experience all five human senses for the first time in one night.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 36
Kudos: 170





	1. Taste

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place [vague hand wave and mumbling]. I know Cas has enjoyed food as a human and angel in the show, so canon divergent I guess, but I just loved the idea that Cas’s vessel allows him to experience human senses, but only if he allows it. First time for a lot of things!

It all starts when Castiel admits he’s never eaten a french fry. Dean’s brain short circuits and he’s left with a mouth full of food and a burger in his hands, completely at a loss.

When his brain comes back online, he chews, swallows, wipes his mouth, and stares pensively down at his plate. Cas is starting to show some concern at the lack of conversation. Sam sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose, and pops open his phone to start a game of Snake.

“Cas,” Dean says finally, “what the fuck.”

Cas glances around the podunk diner in concern. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Dean says darkly. “How old are you again?”

“I thought we were talking about—“

“And you never, in all that time you spent here on God’s green earth, you NEVER tasted a french fry?”

“I’ve never tasted anything,” Cas replies simply and Dean fights to keep his composure.

“Cas. Goddamit, CAS!”

“You seem to be inappropriately upset about this, Dean. I don’t require food to—“

“Well, that’s not the fucking point! Food is... Food is EVERYTHING.”

“To a human, yes. I imagine the thing that sustains your very life would be important to you, but I—“

Dean waves his hands furiously in front of Cas’s face and Sam actually snorts a laugh. “Not. The. Point.”

“I don’t follow.”

“If food were just for ‘sustaining life’,” Dean’s air quotes are practically insulting, “we’d be eating green power shakes and bunches of kale. Food—FRENCH FRIES—are not consumed to ‘sustain life’.”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Sam chimes in.

“I have found the human senses bound in this vessel to be...base.”

“Rude.” Dean points a finger at Cas with a frown.

“I am merely telling the truth. In the celestial plane, the idea of only five senses is laughable. In fact, there’s a wonderfully entertaining joke about it in Enochian.” Cas’s lips have quirked into a small, reflective smile, but it falters at the deepening frown on Dean’s face.

“All I mean is that angels don’t experience stimuli in the same way. We don’t...” Cas pauses and glances at the ceiling as if searching for the right words there. “We just know the essence of all things, all at once. Human senses are so rudimentary—molecular—in comparison.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever, you sound like a stuffy philosophy professor. You’ll eat your words in a minute, Cas. Just wait.”

When the server returns, Dean puts on a polite smile. “We’re gonna need to order a plate of fries. Just a big ass plate.” Dean holds his hands apart roughly platter-sized. “Biggest you got.”

The server, Dianne, doesn’t look half as amused as Sam does by the whole thing, jots something down on her pad, and walks away.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Cas says.

“Oh,” Dean says, perfectly and deadly serious. “It’s necessary.”

—

Castiel holds the fry at eye level and peers dubiously at it. “I’m not sure—“

“Eat the damn fry, Cas,” Dean cuts in.

Cas’s eyes flick up to Dean, then back to the fry. “I really don’t see why this is...” he trails off.

“Seriously, Cas,” Sam says imploringly, “you should just eat the fry before Dean makes a scene. He may actually force-feed it to you if you hold out any longer.”

Cas looks at Dean again who tries to look like that’s a crazy idea and he would never stoop that low. (He totally would though.)

And Cas takes a bite. Dean watches intently, perhaps too intently, but he swears it’s for educational purposes only. Cas’s face is blank at first, chewing mindfully. There’s a flash of something in Cas’s eyes and Dean’s face breaks into a grin, preparing to gloat at what is clearly about to be an emotional awakening for Cas.

Then Cas drops the other half of the fry on the plate and shrugs one shoulder. “Adequate.”

Dean clenches his jaw in surprise and sits back in the booth (when did he lean forward?) “Adequate,” he repeats.

Cas shrugs again and raises his eyebrows. “I am sure whatever pleasure you derive from this won’t be ruined by lack thereof.”

“Man, you’re not human,” Sam says.

“That is correct,” Cas replies.

Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean sighs, takes a couple fries from the plate, and shoves them in his mouth. Well, there’s no accounting for taste, apparently, even for an angel of the Lord.

—-

Dean is a light sleeper—a curse and a gift given his occupation. But the familiar double-beat of _whumpf whumpf_ and a stirring of the air in their otherwise stale, dark motel room doesn’t startle him. Cas is known for showing up at any time or place with little regard for sleep schedules or appropriateness of dress.

Dean rubs a hand down his face and glances at the red numbers glaring at him from the clock on the bedside table. 3:02 AM. Figures. Sam is in the next bed seemingly dead asleep. That also figures. He could sleep through a tornado ripping through their house—and he had, more than once, back in Kansas, before everything.

Dean rolls over and inhales sharply. “Jesus, Cas,” he hisses. Cas’s face is less than a foot from Dean’s when he turns over. After a moment to calibrate, he realizes Cas is squatting next to the bed so he is at eye-level with Dean.

“My apologies,” Cas replies, but doesn’t move from his spot. “But it was important.”

Dean closes his eyes tightly, willing the impending headache away. “What happened? Everything okay?” He sits up and Cas stands, finally taking a step back.

“I...must confess something.” Cas isn’t making eye contact, which is something to note since he’s pretty much the king of awkward staring contests.

“Uh, well, I hate to break it to you, Cas, but I’m definitely not a priest.”

“I lied to you,” Cas continues, ignoring Dean’s jibe. “About the fries.”

It takes Dean a moment to remember what Cas is talking about and when he does, he roves quickly through confusion to annoyance to surprise and finally to caged delight in a matter of seconds.

“You liked the fries, didn’t you?” Dean asks, not helping the grin that spreads across his face.

Cas finally looks at him, but it’s a disparaging look that Dean accepts with delight. Dean glances back at Sam again, but he’s still sound asleep. “Let’s take a walk,” Dean suggests. Cas doesn’t reply, watching as Dean pulls on a pair of jeans, his leather jacket, and boots, and following when Dean heads out of the motel.

They walk in silence, just the crunch of gravel sounding as they make their way across the parking lot. Dean beelines toward the rotting wooden picnic table stuck in a small grassy patch adjacent to the main office of the motel.

“So,” Dean says. He’s once again incapable of not smiling. He’s not even sure why he finds Cas’s love of fries so delightful. Maybe it’s the fact that he lied about it.

“I wanted to apologize,” Cas says.

“For...”

Cas looks annoyed, but continues, “For lying to you.”

“About...”

“Dean,” Cas chastises and Dean actually laughs a little.

“You’re the one who wanted to confess. Never said I would make it easy.”

Cas nearly rolls his eyes; the sentiment is there, at least. Instead, he turns from Dean as Dean steps onto the seat of the picnic table and sits on the top. Cas takes a couple steps, then turns back toward Dean.

“When I first came to earth, it was advised that we temper the senses bound to our vessels. They were a distraction, we were told. An antiquated form of experiencing existence that would hinder our ability to complete our missions, whatever that may be. My true form can better facilitate these experiences. What you would recognize as heightened senses of sight and sound, among other things.”

Dean’s initial reaction to quip about Cas lecturing Dean about how superior angels are is stoppered when he sees the look on Cas’s face. He looks _sad_ and Dean can’t fathom why. So for once in his life, Dean shuts up and he lets Cas talk.

“Do you know why Lucifer fell?”

Dean reels a bit from the switch to a biblical history lesson. “Uh, because he’s a jackass with daddy issues up the ass? And he hated humans so much, Daddy punished him for it. Because we’re awesome.”

“He was jealous,” Cas says. “Jealous that God loved you so much, yes. But also because he knew what a gift God had given you.”

“Free will,” Dean says.

Cas gives a curt nod. “And I always thought that was it. But now...” He trails off, glancing toward the motel, then back to Dean.

“Wait, sorry, are you telling me...Lucifer was jealous because we got french fries and you all didn’t?”

“Dean,” Cas says sharply.

Dean holds his hands out and says, “Well what the hell do you mean, then?”

Cas sighs, his breath fogging the air and Dean notices for the first time that there is something different about the angel. Something almost imperceivable, like when someone moves a piece of furniture half an inch and you don’t notice until you do and then that’s _all_ you notice. It’s the way Cas holds himself, his posture, and his hands at his sides that move more naturally where before he had the stature and countenance of a toy soldier. It’s like he’s finally _in_ this body standing before Dean for the very first time. Cas’s eyes are slightly more reflective, somehow more opaque than normal and his mouth... Dean shuts down that thought and diverts his attention to his Impala parked some 30 feet away, sleek and shining with evening condensation.

“Perhaps nothing,” Cas finally answers. “I may be...” He trails off and Dean hesitates to interrupt because regardless of the ridiculousness of the conversation, it seems important to Cas that he explain this to Dean.

When Cas doesn’t continue, staring into middle space contemplatively, Dean clears his throat. “Well, it sounds like you deserve a human senses crash course.”

Cas’s eyes flick over to Dean, expression unreadable. “Crash course,” he repeats.

“Yeah, man! If you thought fries were good, that’s small potatoes.” Dean finds great joy in the frown that pulls at Cas’s mouth at his incredibly good use of wordplay. “Pie, for one. Apple, specifically and—hey, you got wings! You fly to Mama Janie's Diner in Waverly, Kansas and—“

Dean reels back as a rush of wind and a distinct loss of pressure in the atmosphere signals Cas’s abrupt disappearance. A few moments later, Cas is back holding an entire pie. Dean wonders why he and Sam haven’t been ordering angel to-go service this whole time, but that’s a conversation for another time.

“Okay,” Dean says in surprise. “That’s, uh, great.”

Cas stares at the pie with mild interest. “It does smell...good.”

“It won’t be as good as a pie straight outta the oven, but Mama Janie's stuff pretty much tastes good no matter what. Here.” Dean takes the pie from Cas, flips around, and sits at the picnic table properly. He motions for Cas to sit opposite him and he does. Just as Dean realizes they don’t have utensils, Cas holds out a fork.

“I only got one,” Cas realizes. “I can go—“

Dean waves his hand. “It’s fine,” he says, perhaps too quickly. “It’s your pie anyway.” Cas retracts the spoon and twirls it between his fingers dexterously. Dean’s stomach does a little flip watching Cas’s slender fingers maneuver the utensil, which is ridiculous and Dean must be more tired than he thought.

Dean pops the plastic lid off the pie before pushing it toward Cas. “Dig in,” he says cheerily.

Cas only hesitates a moment before following orders, and Dean is once again forced to convince himself his staring at Cas’s mouth as he chews is merely for educational, friendly purposes. But then Cas lets out an unholy moan that causes Dean’s entire midsection to do a somersault and his face warms.

“It’s...very good,” Cas says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, but the word gets caught in his throat. He coughs a little and adds, “Told you. It’s heaven on a plate.”

Cas hums around the spoon in his mouth as it delivers a second bite. His brow is furrowed in concentration which is just downright precious. “It is hard to describe,” he says. “Apple and cinnamon and sugar and...something else.”

Dean points a finger at Cas. “Secret ingredient. Trust me, I’ve tried to get Mama to tell me, but she’s as tight as a devil’s trap.”

Cas swallows and then glances at Dean. He twists the spoon around and offers it to Dean.

“Oh,” Dean says and takes it, their fingers brushing briefly. “Thanks.”

When he takes a bite, he’s not thinking about the fact that his mouth has now been where Cas’s was, because it’s totally fine and he’s shared utensils with Sam all the time and it’s the exact same, thank you very much.

“Man,” Dean says. “I hope my heaven is just Mama Janie's Diner lined floor to ceiling with fresh-baked pies.”

Cas huffs out a small laugh.

They spend the next ten minutes or so in companionable silence, trading the spoon back and forth until there is barely a crumb left.


	2. Smell

Dean feels the weight of a good sugary meal sit heavy on his eyes, urging him to sleep, but he wants to stay awake for this, for Cas’s foray into the joy of the human senses.

“Oh!” Dean says as something occurs to him. “Hold tight. I’ve got an idea.” He gets up from the table and heads toward the motel office before Cas can ask. He returns with two styrofoam cups of hot coffee. Hot, burnt, overbrewed, old-ass coffee.

He hands one of the cups to Cas who takes it with a quirked eyebrow. He brings the cup up to his lips, but Dean places a finger on the edge. “Not for drinking,” Dean says.

“What?”

Dean wraps his hands around his own cup and brings it up to take an indulgent sniff.

Cas watches with careful consideration before following suit. His eyes flutter closed. “That’s...”

“Fuckin’ good, right?”

Cas’s lips quirk into a smile, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I was going to say redolent—“

“Of course you were.”

“—but ‘good’ is accurate as well.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Motel coffee. Smells like heaven, tastes like... Well, not quite like hell, but at least a kissing cousin.”

Dean takes a sip and yeah, it’s burnt as hell. But he’s given up any notion of getting sleep today, so the caffeine is warranted. Cas watches but seems content to inhale the steamy liquid, which Dean thinks is probably for the best.


	3. Sound

“So what about sound?” Dean asks. “That blowing your mind, too?”

Cas seems to mull that over for a moment. “Yes and no. I hear remarkably less than what my true form could, but...” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, something he probably doesn’t even register, and it has Dean’s heart beating a staccato on his ribs. Too much caffeine, he supposes.

“What I do hear—the crickets, the wind, the generator,” Dean follows Cas’s gaze to the buzzing machine by the motel’s front entrance. “It’s more harmonious. An orchestra of sound instead of a dissonant clashing of reechoes.”

Dean bites back a remark about SAT words. “Oh shit,” Dean says, a realization hitting him at full force. “Cas! You’ve never listened to music!”

Cas blinks in surprise. “I...suppose not with my vessel a—“

“Fuck, dude!” Dean says and before he thinks twice about it, he grabs Cas’s wrist and pulls him up from the table, leading him to the Impala. Cas comes without a fight and Dean doesn’t dwell on what it means that this millions-year-old celestial being is allowing Dean Winchester to manhandle him in a motel parking lot.

He releases Cas’s wrist when they get to the car and Cas obediently climbs into the passenger seat while Dean slides into the driver’s side. He fishes the keys out of his jeans pocket and turns the car on, relishing the familiar rumble as the engine catches.

Cas is staring at Dean, which is disarming at the best of times, but Dean tamps down any pesky feelings before reaching toward Cas’s feet and pulling out the box of cassette tapes from under the seat. “Time to introduce you to some real fuckin’ music,” Dean says.

His fingers hesitate over the plastic spines with his father’s black, familiar scrawl cast underneath. Dean has favorites, of course, but this is Cas’s first song he’ll truly hear like a human and suddenly that feels like a very big deal.

“Dean?”

He’s hesitated too long. He huffs out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, didn’t realize this was gonna be such a hard choice.”

Fortunate Son? Space Oddity? Travelling Riverside Blues? He almost reaches for Lynyrd Skynyrd, thinking Simple Man, but his mind catches on the lyrics and he decides against it, his fingers curling back.

“I’m sure whatever you choose is fine, Dean. I trust you.” Cas’s soft rumble sates the gnawing anxiety in Dean’s gut.

Dean plucks a cassette out of the box. Cas takes the box of tapes from Dean when he hands it over and pushes it back under the seat. Dean pushes the tape into the tape deck and presses the fast forward button. Dean’s sure there’s something to be said about the fact that he can almost perfectly time when to stop the winding tape.

As the last riffs of “True Confessions” fade out, Dean glances over at Cas. He’s going to make some comment, some qualifying statement about the song, the band, the lyrics to ensure Cas that it’s okay if he doesn’t enjoy it. It would devastate Dean just a little, but really, it’s fine. But Cas has his eyes closed, face passive, completely tuned in and Dean swallows his doubts.

The achingly familiar guitar plucks out a tune so intrinsic to Dean’s childhood and, frankly, to his present.

_All our times have come_   
_Here but now they're gone_   
_Seasons don't fear the reaper_   
_Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain, we can be like they are_   
_Come on baby, don't fear the reaper_   
_Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper_   
_We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper_   
_Baby I'm your man_

There is a panic building in Dean’s throat, threatening to burst and force his hands to eject the tape. This was a stupid song to pick. It’s too much, too close to a truth Dean’s not willing to look in the face. He thinks, what if Cas looks over and questions his choice, asks why he chose this song, and, well, Dean could stick to his guns. He could tell Cas that sometimes—most times—this is like the keynote for his life. He will drive head-first into peril without regard because that’s his job. And he’s over the notion of that ever changing for him, he’s over pining for a normality that was never in reach. But in the back of his mind, a niggling itch remains. Dean won’t stop, he won’t change, but if he could find an equal, someone to face the darkness with... There’s Sam. Of course there’s Sam. It’s always been Dean and Sam, but Dean’s aware that Sam carries within him the propensity for a life outside of hunting, outside of monsters and bleeding and fucking dying every goddamn year. Sam could have more. And maybe Dean could, too, in a different way. With Cas.

Cas doesn’t say anything. He sits in the passenger seat and listens.

When the song comes to an end, Dean’s hands are shaking. He wants to eject the tape, turn off the car, slap a friendly hand on Cas's shoulder and say he’ll see him later, but instead he’s frozen.

E.T.I. starts and Dean thinks, _Thank God_ , because aliens are absurd and the song is fun and it doesn’t burn a hole in Dean’s sternum.

“Dean.”

Dean swallows and can’t bring himself to look at Cas, so instead he stares at his hands white knuckled and gripping one another on his lap. “Uh, yeah. Blue Öyster Cult. They’re good. Well, I think so anyway. A lot of...people think so.”

He sounds so stupid. He needs to just shut the fuck up. He needs to stop acting so weird because he’s reading into something that doesn’t exist, can’t exist, _won’t_ exist.

He takes a steadying breath and looks over at Cas, hoping beyond hope his feigned cheer is believable. But, _oh God_ , Cas is looking at him with his head tilted just so, eyes slightly narrowed and Dean is momentarily thrust back to that night they first met.

 _You don’t think you deserve to be saved_ , Cas had said and the look he gave Dean is the same soul-piercing one Dean is getting now.

And Dean is terrified. If Cas knows, if he sees what Dean is feeling, wanting, hoping for—

Dean clears his throat self-consciously. “Well,” he glances at the tape deck and reaches over to stop it. It takes everything in Dean not to sprint out of his own skin when Cas’s hand folds over his, stopping him from pressing pause. His reflex is to pull away and change the subject. _Move on_ , his brain is shouting at him. _Make it safe again._

But Cas hasn’t moved his hand and he hasn’t pulled his eyes off Dean. Dean finally returns Cas’s gaze. “I like it,” Cas says. His voice is remarkably light, considering Dean feels like he’s drowning right now.

“Oh,” Dean replies, all the quips and cleverness having bled out of him the moment Cas touched him. “Yeah. We can— We can keep it on.”

Dean thinks that’s it, that Cas will pull away and they’ll go back to discussing pie or whatever the fuck, because where could this possibly go? Dean’s heart is still beating a mile a minute and it may just break through his rib cage if Cas doesn’t let go of his hand soon.

“Are you afraid?” Cas asks, concern suddenly coloring his features. His eyes dart down and away, looking for an answer. “I apologize if I—“

“No!” Dean cuts in quickly. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m not—“ He huffs out a breath that’s supposed to be a laugh but ends up sounding more like a stifled cry.

“But you are,” Cas insists. He moves the hand holding Dean’s to Dean’s chest, pressing it warm and gentle over his heart. Dean’s hand is left in limbo by the stereo and decides to follow, gripping Cas’s wrist. To move it away or keep it there, Dean’s not quite sure.

“Ah, yeah, well,” Dean says and his voice is shaking. God, he’s being such a _girl_ about this. He swallows down the anxiety building in his throat and says, “So, uh, how’s the whole human senses thing? Live up to the hype?”

Dean is pointedly ignoring the fact that Cas still has his hand pressed against his heart, that he can certainly feel it pounding away like the traitor it is, and that Cas can sense his anxiety on top of that.

“I have not covered all five senses,” Cas replies simply.

“What’d we miss?”

“Touch.”

“Oh.”


	4. Touch

Dean’s not sure when it happened, but Cas’s left leg is up on the soft leather benchseat, his knee barely pressing against Dean’s thigh. His whole body is turned toward Dean, and the angle allows him to be closer.

Much closer.

“I wonder....“ Cas pauses, eyes flicking down. It causes his eyelashes to brush his cheeks. It’s a brief reprieve for Dean from his discerning gaze. “Could I—“ He looks back up at Dean.

“Yes!” Dean cuts in quickly. He’s not sure what he’s agreeing to exactly, and given that Cas is really fucking weird, he may regret that. But on the off-chance they’re actually on the same page...

Cas’s eyes widen in surprise and then flick down to Dean’s mouth and— oh, _oh_.

Cas leans forward, so tantalizingly slowly Dean thinks his whole chest might burst before they ever touch. They’re inches apart when Dean feels the first brush of skin on his bottom lip. Not Cas’s mouth, but his thumb. Dean opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see Cas studying him like he’s the most interesting work of art in the world.

“You have a freckle on your lip,” Cas says softly as his thumb slides across Dean’s bottom lip. He says it barely louder than a whisper, but Dean still feels Cas’s warm breath mix with his own and it makes everything inside him feel alive, electric.

Dean has nothing to say to that, and the way Cas is looking at him, at Dean of all people, like he’s a work of art to be appraised or even adulated. Dean can think of one way to make him stop, so he closes the gap between them, pressing his mouth to Cas’s.

Cas’s left hand traces a path from Dean’s cheek to his neck where his curious fingers press gently at the nape of his neck.

The kiss, which starts softer than anything Dean’s experienced (he’s so careful, so aware how bad this could all go), deepens into something heady, needy, and altogether a lot hotter than Dean thought possible, considering Cas’s experience in this department is ostensibly lacking. But Cas is nothing but an astute and enthusiastic learner, and that’s not accounting for chemistry, which Dean has been loath to admit even exists until now.

Cas breaks the kiss first and Dean whimpers at the loss of contact, because he’s pathetic and needy. He also doesn’t super care at this moment, and pulls Cas in again by his jacket (when had he clutched his jacket?) Cas relents, but only briefly before he pulls back again.

Dean’s eyes snap open as, for a horrifying moment, he thinks maybe Cas doesn’t want to be kissing him and—God, did he just read this all wrong? Or is he that bad of a kisser? He’s never had complaints before...

But no, Cas looks fucking _fond_ and Dean has to fight the urge to make fun of the guy for it.

“Sorry,” Cas says and Dean gets a little thrill from the way Cas sounds absolutely, devastatingly prurient. “It’s— It’s a lot of, um...” Cas searches for the words but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from Dean’s to find them.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees anyway. It’s then he realizes Cas’s right hand is still over his heart and Dean is still gripping his wrist. He moves that hand to Cas’s cheek, his thumb mimicking Cas’s from moments ago, ghosting his bottom lip. Cas’s breath catches and his eyes flutter closed, which Dean finds markedly arousing.

“Cas,” Dean starts, but then doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even know if he was going to say anything at all, thinking maybe he just wants to say his name out loud, like an invocation, like a prayer.

Cas leans into Dean’s palm. His hands withdraw from Dean’s neck and chest, leaving a coldness behind that isn’t just physical. Dean aches to be closer to Cas, but before he can make a move, Cas takes Dean’s hand in both of his, turns his head, and kisses his palm. It’s a soft and reverent kiss, and it catches Dean completely off-guard. He’s not sure why this small moment of affection is what pushes him over the edge, but he can sense the moment the dam breaks inside of him. He’s flooded with an unforgiving and unrelenting understanding that this being, this _person_ is venerating him, Dean Winchester. It should be beyond an impossibility, falling somewhere into absurdity even, and yet...

And yet, here he is. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, face half-cast in the ambient glow of a boondock motel streetlight, considers Dean with a look that cuts right to the core of him and does not recoil in the face of the obscene, rotting parts he knows are there, roiling and aching to escape, to prove the worst parts of Dean are the truest parts, too. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, brushes the knuckles of his most vicious weapon with tender kisses.

“Cas,” Dean pleads, although whether for him to stop or continue, Dean’s not sure.


	5. Sight

Cas leans back slightly, but his hands don’t let go of Dean’s. Sight,” Cas says and it takes Dean a moment to realize what he’s saying. Cas’s eyes are searching Dean’s face, or maybe just regarding him. Dean feels naked for it and he shifts uncomfortably. “You are...” Cas gives Dean a thoughtful look.

“ _Sense_ -ational?” Dean’s heart drops when he thinks he’s ruined the moment with his stupid jokes and his stupid mouth.

But Cas’s nose crinkles and he laughs and it’s the most gratifying, captivating noise Dean’s ever heard. Dean laughs too, although a little self-deprecatingly.

“That was a very bad joke,” Cas remarks. His eyes are lit up and more alive than Dean has ever seen them.

“Yeah, well, get used to it, I guess,” Dean replies.

Dean wonders what comes next. It’s not like he can ask the guy to go steady with him, ask him to the prom, invite him over to meet his parents. Hell, even if Dean were the kind of person who dated, he’s not sure he’d ever get up the courage to ask; it's something that would leave him so vulnerable. It’s just not his style, he decides. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. Except...

Well, he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He hopes Cas doesn’t want to leave him. The love part is far too close to that aforementioned something vulnerable and he’s quick to back off that particular train of thought.

But what if this meant nothing to Cas? It’s been proven time and time again that he and Cas often don’t function on the same wavelength of reality. The guy tends to be so literal. So what if that’s it? What if this was truly just Cas taking the ol’ vessel out for a spin and now he can pack it away, all “thanks for the help, Dean. You’re a good friend.”

Dean’s nearly worked himself back into a panic. But then Cas says, “I am looking forward to it.” Dean must look like a deer in headlights because Cas clarifies, “Getting used to your particular parlance.”

“Christ,” Dean breathes. Then, since his chest feels lighter than ever, he adds, ”Do you and Sam both keep a thesaurus handy, like, all the time? It’s so obnoxious.”

“Yes, of course,” Cas replies, characteristically serious.

Dean pauses. “Wait... what?”

“Every angel assigned to Earth is of course first given a thesaurus to ensure we sound just as high and mighty as we are.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dean says and he pulls Cas toward him to kiss the stupid smile off his face.

Cas returns the kiss eagerly, leaning into Dean’s space. Then he keeps pushing into Dean’s space until Dean is forced onto his back, the armrest console digging uncomfortably into the back of his neck. But Dean hardly notices as Cas is getting adventurous and trailing his mouth, hot and wanting, down Dean’s jaw to the spot just underneath that has Dean practically squirming with how good it feels. Arousal pools in Dean’s abdomen and his hands are desperate to touch Cas’s skin, but his stupid jacket and his stupid shirt with his stupid tie is in the way. Dean groans in frustration and he feels a huff of warm breath on his neck as Cas gives a small laugh.

Dean has finally pulled Cas’s shirt free from his trousers so he can at least get a hand around him to press against his back and pull him even closer. Dean aches with a deep, primal need to be as close to Cas as possible with as few clothes possible on top of that, but without either of them separating for even a second because Dean thinks he might die if they do. Especially once Cas takes a tentative nip of his neck.

Dean’s hand—the one not wrapped around Cas’s back—curls into Cas’s hair and pulls lightly. It must be all right since Cas stutters out a soft “oh” and his head drops to Dean’s shoulder.

“Do you— Is that—?” Dean swallows around his stubborn words and prays Cas gets the message since the English language is currently out of reach.

“Yes,” Cas says in reply and, _God_ , the way his voice is deeper and raspier than usual and Dean can feel Cas’s voice vibrate in his own chest.

Cas’s mouth is on Dean’s again. Cas slips his tongue against Dean’s and Dean pulls Cas even closer.

Suddenly, Dean’s head drops and they break apart as the door Dean was against opens. “Ah, what the fuck!” Dean cries before he catches the eye of his own brother looming above him.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says. Cas's tone is calm and light even though he’s practically straddling Dean and looking decidedly ruffled, clothes askew and hair on all ends.

“I...am so sorry,” Sam says. Although even from upside-down, Dean can tell he’s secretly delighted. “I woke up and— Well, you were gone so— But here you are. Um.”

“Fuck off, Sam,” Dean pleads, his voice muffled behind his hand, which is covering his face in a mixture of embarrassment and exhaustion.

“Right. Sure. Sorry. Again.” Sam is still standing there a moment later though. “Uh...your head is...in the way...”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean curses before he leans up, turns over, and slams the door closed.

Cas sits back and Dean, head resting back on the arm console, watches Cas’s eyes as they track Sam across the parking lot and toward their motel room.

“I’m going to have to kill him now.”

“I hardly think that’s an appropriate response,” Cas replies. “Besides, he didn’t seem upset.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not really the point.”

Cas stares down at Dean in reply and Dean finally drops his hand away, resting it on Cas’s thigh.

“I should go,” Cas says quietly.

Dean feels his heart drop into his stomach. “Oh,” he says. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Dean goes to lean up, but Cas holds him back with a hand to his chest. “Dean, you think very loudly.”

“I do not. Wait— Can you read my fucking mind?!” Dean is absolutely mortified, but then he recognizes the shit-eating grin on Cas’s face, even if it's not nearly as obvious and obnoxious as Sam's.

“Not as such, but your face is very...expressive.” Cas is looking at him fondly again and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Goddamn sap,” Dean mutters, but he’s smiling in spite of himself.

“I have work to do,” Cas says more seriously. “But I...” He hesitates and his eyes flick to the side. Dean’s beginning to learn it’s a tell for when he’s feeling nervous. “I wouldn’t mind... _continuing_ , as it were, at a later time.”

“Hey,” Dean says and pulls Cas to face him again with a soft touch to his chin. “It’s a date.”

“Oh!” Cas says, eyes widening in surprise. “Is it? My understanding of modern human courting doesn’t exactly cover—“

“‘Modern human courting’?” Dean cuts in. “Who am I, Jane Austen? Christ, just...get out of here. We can talk later.” Hopefully when his heart rate is back to a livable pace and he can think straight.

“Good,” Cas replies agreeably. “Perhaps next time we can each masturbate each other. I have heard wh—“

Dean slams a hand over Cas’s mouth before he can finish. He stops talking but gives Dean a withering look.

“Our first conversation is going to be about what you can and cannot say out loud to me. Ever. Under any circumstances.”

Cas pulls Dean’s hand away. “I see.” Dean’s not sure he does, actually, but that’s for another day.

Cas leans down and presses a comparably chaste kiss against the side of Dean’s mouth. “Until later, then, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs.

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving behind a vacuum quickly filled by cool evening air. Dean blows out a long breath and stares at the ceiling of his car. Maybe he’ll spend the rest of the night here. It’s got to be better than whatever conversation is awaiting him back in the motel room.

A giddiness rises in Dean’s chest, which is unexpected. Aftershocks of necking an angel, he supposes.

Well, better to face Sam now. It’s going to be a lot of dumb questions and he won’t want to answer them in the morning.

Maybe he’ll just kill the kid instead. Easier that way.

**Author's Note:**

> //rolls up 9 years later holding starbucks// heard dean and cas are canon gay 
> 
> dean is a stone cold idiot and i think that’s very sexy of him


End file.
